


A Merry Little Christmas

by sevendustycowboys (palimpsests_and_quill_pens)



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Feel-good, Fluff, Happy Ending, Romance, Sweet, a little bit angsty but definitely fluffy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 06:57:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17503796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palimpsests_and_quill_pens/pseuds/sevendustycowboys
Summary: Holiday cheer and Chris Larabee never really went hand in hand. Traditions and celebrations belonged to Sarah and Adam. Not him. And when Christmas covers every inch of Four Corners, Chris makes it a habit to disappear for the entire month of December.But he has a family of his own now. Though Mary tends to be a bit more reserved in her celebration of the holiday season, Billy is overjoyed with the excitement of Christmas and he envelops Chris in his infectious enthusiasm, whether he’s ready for it or not.





	A Merry Little Christmas

 

On December 1st, Christmas swept through Four Corners like a wildfire. Garlands of greenery hung on every door with large bows of red and gold ribbon. Candles winked and shivered in every window. Sweet baking smells filled the air, from vanilla and cinnamon to sugar and nutmeg.

In the past, Chris was nowhere to be found for the entire month of December. Not in Four Corners. Not at his cabin. He was simply gone. Vanished deep into the desert, far away from the holiday traditions that he had once shared with Sarah and Adam.

But this year, things were different.

The full impact of that realization hit him the moment he stepped into The Clarion News and found paper snowflakes drifting from the ceiling. During his shift on the night watch, the newspaper office had been transformed into a blizzard. He should have seen it coming, with the way Billy chattered non-stop about Christmas, or the way Mary's eyes lit up at the prospect of finally having Billy home for the holiday season after so many Christmases apart.

Chris stood on the threshold, fingers still curled around the door handle. All he had to do was turn around and leave. He'd done it before. It was easier to keep moving, to leave it behind—everything. All of it. The good, the bad, the in between.

"He tried to wait up for you."

Chris's gaze darted to a far corner of the room, shrouded in the gray shadows of midnight. Mary sat in a chair, shawl wrapped around her shoulders, Billy asleep in her lap, his head tucked beneath her chin. She combed her fingers through Billy's hair in a slow, soothing rhythm. But she wouldn't meet Chris's gaze.

"It's overwhelming, I know," she whispered, gesturing to the snowflakes.

She looked haunted in the dark—pale skin, pale hair, pale nightgown—her posture braced for something on the horizon. A hard blow. A soft word of regret. An apology she didn't want to hear.

Still, Chris hovered at the threshold. He said nothing, watching the snowflakes waltzing in slow, lazy circles from the draft by the open door.

"Billy and I will understand," Mary continued, "if you need...time. Distance."

That last word—distance—came out rough and dry. As if the letters were too sharp when spoken and left a sour taste of blood in her mouth.

And yet Mary made the offer anyway. She had to. Billy had needed distance years ago, struggling with loss, grief, and the long, painful process of rebuilding what would never be normal without his father. Mary had needed space as well, to curl around her aching heart, to put the pieces of her life back together again.

But it scared her to say it out loud nonetheless.

Finally, Chris made a decision. He passed the threshold, a flurry of snowflakes batting around his head and shoulders as he closed the door behind him. He crossed the room and touched the back of Billy's head. Then he took Mary's hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles, grazing that slim golden band around her ring finger.

"I'm staying right here," he said.

***

As Christmas advanced closer with every passing day, Chris slowly began to see how ill-prepared he was for celebrations like this. He’d isolated himself for too long to jump back into the swing of things at the drop of a hat.

Billy, however, held no such inhibitions.

“Chris, look!” he declared, bouncing on his toes and pointing to the giant bowl of cookie dough on the kitchen table. “Mama and I are making cookies for Christmas! You wanna do it too?”

“Billy, he might not—” Mary started.

But Chris curved his hand around her elbow.

“They can’t be that different from dumplings,” he said.

Mary raised her eyebrows as if to say, _are you sure?_

“Is Christmas on a Sunday?” Billy said, wide-eyed and hopeful. “Can we have dumplings _and_ cookies?”

Chris swiped at a streak of flour on Billy’s cheek. “It’s on a Tuesday this year. But I think we can make an exception.”

Billy whooped with excitement. Mary leaned forward and rested her chin on Chris’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

***

Buck dropped into the chair beside Chris at the saloon.

“Well?” he said. “What did you get the small fry for Christmas?”

For a split second, Chris’s mind went completely and utterly blank.

He had known Christmas was coming, of course. And there was generally gift-giving involved. But he hadn’t truly allowed himself to consider what that might entail.

Buck tsked and shook his head. “Empty-handed. Not a good sign, buddy.”

“I’m not empty-handed.”

Which was a lie.

“I’ll put in a word with Ezra,” Buck replied. “He’s always got a fancy trinket or two up his sleeve.”

“I don’t need Ezra’s help.”

Buck huffed a laugh. “You certainly need someone’s help. Christmas is five days away.”

“I’ll manage.”

“Suit yourself. Sure hope you don’t disappoint that sweet little boy on Christmas morning when there are no gifts waiting for him just because his daddy was a Scrooge.”

Chris sighed and pushed his chair back. “At least I’m not teaching him to carry around a bunch of green sticks and call it mistletoe so I can kiss all the girls in town.”

But Buck’s comment had hit closer to home than he would have liked. This was his first Christmas with Mary and Billy, as a husband, as a father, a piece of the family puzzle. He was trying to get the hang of it again—the decorations, the baking, the Christmas stories, the gifts—but he was out of practice and rusty. And he hated the thought of disappointing Billy when Billy was so excited at the prospect of Christmas.

Chris closed his eyes and bowed his head. He had to come up with a gift. Fast.

***

Mary crouched in front of Billy, gloved fingers making quick work of the buttons on Billy’s coat.

“You’re welcome to come along anyway,” Mary said. “You don’t have to sing.”

“That’s the point of caroling, Mary,” Chris countered.

She stood and smoothed her hands down her skirt. She wrapped an arm around Billy’s shoulders, pulling him in front of her. When she met Chris’s eye this time, he watched as the hope fizzled out of her expression and went dark. He was trying to be a good husband and father, to be present every chance he could, but it seemed he was failing on every count.

“I think I’ll stay behind this time,” Chris said. “I have an early patrol in the morning.”

Mary nodded and patted his shoulder. “If you change your mind, come find us, all right?”

She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek and trailed her fingers down his arm to squeeze his hand before she released him and moved to the door. As she herded Billy to the door, he twisted away from her and darted to Chris, flinging his arms around Chris’s legs.

“I left some cookies for you in the kitchen,” he said. “So you won’t get hungry while we’re gone.”

Then Billy took off, boots clattering on the floorboards as he ran out the door. Mary ducked her head to hide a smile and followed after him, closing the door behind her.

The office was cold and empty, apart from the whispering whisk-whisk-whisk of paper snowflakes bumping against each other overhead in a chilly draft. Chris crossed the newspaper office to the window and watched as Mary and Billy joined the group of carolers standing in the street. A few other figures were recognizable—Casey’s pigtails, Buck’s tall silhouette, Nathan and Rain arm in arm.

Josiah hoisted Billy up with one arm and settled Billy on his shoulders. Billy grinned and sang at the top of his lungs as he wrapped his arms around Josiah’s neck.

All Chris had to do was step out the door, sidle in at the edge of the group. Mary would welcome him in a heartbeat. Billy would cheer and haul Chris deeper into the festivities. Buck would shoot him a smug look of triumph.

But Chris remained at the window, looking on, unable to bring himself to join in.

***

Christmas Eve.

Billy had fallen asleep on the rug in the middle of the office, toys scattered around him in a halo. Clutched in his hand was the horse carving Chris had given him at their first meeting.

Mary sat at her desk, absently tapping the tip of her pencil against her lips as she read over an article for tomorrow’s paper.

Chris had already hung up his gun belt for the evening, hidden away out of sight, selecting a book instead for entertainment. But he hadn’t paid any attention to the story, hadn’t turned the page in an hour or two. He kept looking at Billy, that clumsy horse carving held so close to his chest.

Buck’s words wouldn't stop echoing in Chris's head.

_Sure hope you don’t disappoint that sweet little boy on Christmas morning when there are no gifts waiting for him just because his daddy was a Scrooge._

“Mary,” Chris said, his voice a dry rasp in the peaceful stillness.

“Hmm?” Mary said, raising her chin in acknowledgement but still captivated by the words on the page.

“I don’t have anything for Billy.” _Or you,_ he thought.

When he married Mary in April, he thought he was ready for family life again but it seemed he still couldn’t get the rhythm of it yet. He had forgotten what it was like to be a caring husband and an attentive father.

Mary’s gaze flicked up. “What do you mean?”

“A gift. He’s been so excited about Christmas and tomorrow…there will be nothing waiting for him.”

Mary set her pencil down and rose from her chair. She came around the desk to stand behind him, sliding her arms around his neck.

“All he wants is you, Chris,” she said softly. “Nothing cheered him up after his father was gone. Believe me, I tried everything. Toys, books, odd jobs around the office.” Mary’s hand came to rest over Chris’s heart. “You mean the world to him. To both of us.”

Chris covered Mary’s hand with his, curling his fingers into her palm with an appreciative squeeze. Words were never easy for him. But it seemed the right people already knew that and didn’t mind at all.

Billy yawned and rubbed at his eyes, blinking sleepily at Chris and Mary.

“Why don’t you put him to bed?” Mary whispered. “I’ll clean up.”

Chris nodded. He crossed the room and scooped Billy into his arms. Billy sighed and burrowed his face into the crook of Chris’s neck. As Chris carried him out of the office and to his room, paper snowflakes brushed against Billy’s hair like kisses.

***

In the morning, when the night was still blue and the blush of dawn hadn’t swept the sky yet, the bedroom door creaked open, followed by the hush of a footstep.

Chris’s arm around Mary’s waist tightened on instinct, clutching her body against him. His mind flashed to the last place he’d left his gun—tucked in a drawer in the bedside table.

A pause of silence settled over the room.

Then Billy launched onto the bed.

“It’s Christmas! It’s Christmas! It’s Christmas!” he chanted, bouncing up and down.

Mary mumbled a tired laugh. “Billy, it’s too early.”

“CHRISTMAS!!!” Billy cheered, louder than ever.

Chris released a shaky breath of relief and eased his grip off of Mary. He groaned and pulled his pillow over his head.

“Maybe you got the day wrong,” he said, not quite stifling the amusement in his voice.

Billy dropped to his knees and made a grab for the pillow. But Chris saw it coming. He flung the pillow aside and caught Billy around the middle, tickling him until Billy screeched with laughter. Chris hauled Billy down to the bed and Billy nestled between Chris and Mary with a smile that spread from ear to ear. He turned his head to look at Mary.

“Can I give Papa his present now?” he said.

_Papa._

Chris’s hand went still against Billy’s torso, feeling the rise and fall of Billy’s breathing beneath his palm. This boy, full to bursting with life, was teaching him how to live again, igniting all the icy cold parts of his heart that he had shut away so long ago.

Mary cast a glance at Chris above Billy’s head. She reached over and brushed the back of her finger across his cheek.

“Yes, you can, Billy,” she said. “It’s in my sewing kit.”

Billy squirmed off the bed and ran from the room, the flap-flap-flap of his footsteps receding to silence.

 _Papa_ still resonated in the room, a word Chris had believed relegated to the fading of his memories alone. Spoken aloud now. On Christmas morning. Mary interlaced her fingers with his and kissed the back of his hand, holding on as tight as an anchor.

Seconds later, Billy barreled into the room and scrambled onto the bed. He placed a small brown parcel on Chris’s knee and sat back on his heels.

Chris picked up the delicate parcel and plucked at the string. As the brown paper fell away, Billy wiggled, unable to contain his excitement any longer. He leaned forward and helped Chris pry the lid off of the box.

Inside…

Inside was a tiny red and white pair of baby slippers.

“I’m going to be a big brother!” Billy blurted.

Chris’s gaze darted up to Mary. A slow, sweet smile spread across her face. She sat up and shifted closer, curving her hands around his arm with a kiss to his shoulder.

Chris couldn’t stop staring at those slippers. But he couldn’t touch them, couldn’t pick them up or hold them. If he did, the illusion might shatter, the dream might disappear and it would be only a memory, faded and slipping from his grasp.

Billy wormed his way between Mary and Chris, delighted to be squished between his mother and father. Mary tucked him in close, pulling the blankets up around him as she rested her chin on top of his head.

But when Chris continued to stare at the slippers without any sign of expression, without saying a word, Billy frowned. He craned his neck back to look at Mary. She lowered her head and he cupped one hand to her ear.

“Why is Papa so quiet?” he whispered.

Mary shook her head. “Maybe he’s just hungry. Let’s go get breakfast started.”

Before Billy could jump to the ground, Chris spoke.

“No.”

Mary stopped. Billy’s head whipped around to stare at Chris.

“Come here,” Chris said.

Billy scrambled over Mary’s knee, tucking himself into Chris’s side. Chris looped an arm around Mary’s shoulders. She tipped her chin up, searching Chris’s face.

She wouldn’t ask if he was all right, not yet at least. She would give him time to adjust, to realize that new memories were about to be made alongside the ghosts of his past.

Chris nuzzled Mary’s cheek and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips.

“Ew,” Billy grumbled and yanked the blankets over his head. But a faint giggle gave him away.

Mary breathed a laugh, her smile so perfect against Chris’s mouth.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispered.

 


End file.
